


Still Undefeated

by mangacrack



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Rivendell | Imladris, Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/pseuds/mangacrack
Summary: Never forget to remember forgiveness. Moments between Celebrían and Maglor.





	Still Undefeated

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Tolkien Secret Santa 2017. I had a list of character's to go by and took a look at that person's tumblr. Ended up writing far more about Celebrían and Maglor than I planned. Warnings: Hints at Celebrían's canon fate at the end.
> 
> Lyrics are from [Daughtry - Undefeated](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMTLI-5Aocs)

_Swing left, swing right_  
_Bruised and black-eyed, half alive_  
_Bleeding, choking_  
_Bent not broken inside_

 

The first time she meets Maglor, Celebrían doesn't know it's him. It's late evening and tomorrow the last alliance will ride out against Sauron. Her father will ride with the host while she and her mother will remain in Imladris. Celebrían knows it grates on her mother, but all agreed that Galadriel's strength does not lay on the battlefield and is far more useful protecting the valley.

"Promise me you will return," Celebrían says and takes Elrond's hands into her own. Their love is young and fresh. With Sauron looming at the horizon they've found comfort in each other, where before they had barely been acquaintances. "Give me your word that you'll survive and come back to Imladris to finally marry me."

"I'll speak no vow, Celebrían, for I've been raised better than to challenge the uncertainty of the future, but I'll do my very best to fulfil your wish," Elrond responds, solemn. He rests his forehead against hers. "In case I do not return, it'll be only because I tried everything in order to free this world from evil. I do not wish my children to grow up under a reign of terror."

"You're right, Elrond," Celebrían breathes and says her goodbyes.

She watches her beloved retreat, there's still much to discuss for Imladris is a new settlement and despite Mordor being far away, the danger of an attack from the North remains.

Celebrían sighs. As she turns around, she spots a tall Elf, leaning against a wall not far away. He's dressed in battle armor, his black hair his hidden beneath a helmet and a sword dangles from his hip.

"Don't fear, my Lady, I'll bring him back to you. I've an invested interest in his continued well-being," the Elf tells her. He has his arms crossed over his chest and yet seems to be the only one Celebrían met recently who looks at the future with confidence.

She remembers seeing him before. Celebrían saw him trailing after Elrond like a guard dog in the past days. Since he doesn't offer his name, she only nods and watches him trail after Elrond. Always keeping to the shadows though, as if he doesn't want the attention.

 

-

 

It's a few months after her official wedding. Most of the important guest have left and only a few close friends remain, wishing to stay longer, but Celebrían doesn't mind the company and is rather glad that their small family can finally have some time for themselves. Yet one late evening, they receive the news of a late visitor. Not a common occurrence, but not unheard of either that a traveller got held up on the road and pushed the last miles in order to reach safety. Celebrían can understand it if someone rather wants to sleep in a soft bed instead of spending another night among the stars. She puts her book aside in order to brew more tea and goes to the kitchen in order to see if there's still someone awake.

So far nothing unusual, but what makes her stop in the tracks is when she witnesses her husband personally greeting the visitor.

From the open balcony she has a good view on the scene.

Celebrían watches in fascination how Elrond's smile goes from polite to blinding wide. His stern features open up and the grief over the loss over his friend Gil-galad disappears completely as the rider dismounts and wraps his arms around her husband.

Elrond holds on tightly, burying his face in the strangers coat and only lets go, when she joins them many minutes later.

"May I introduce you to my dear wife, Celebrían Artaniel?" Elrond says and takes the stranger's hand. The taller Elf gives her a wry smile and bows politely.

Celebrían stares in wonder and barely registers the next words.

"My love, this is Maglor Fëanorian." Elrond says. "My father."

Maglor smiles, obviously bemused by her shocked expression and while she feels a little overwhelmed, Celebrían also can't recall if she has seen her husband ever this happy. Even during the feast on her wedding he appeared more serene and content, filled with a deep rooted sense of joy than bright, beautiful and adoring smile he wears now.

"Please come inside," Celebrían finally answers and decides to skip thousands years of history. If Maglor's presence can make her love smile like that, he's allowed to stay as long as he wants. "I've made tea and brought leftovers from the kitchen. You must be hungry."

 

-

 

If she ever had reservations against Maglor, they all evaporate into thin air the day they all realize Celebrían is pregnant with twins. It's such a rarity among their kind that no one knows what she can expect from her pregnancy. Even Elrond can only draw knowledge from the cases, where he aided Edain mothers. But the result is same, everyone tells her that the next year will be difficult and probably painful.

She has never been so glad to see Elrond's father in her life, when he appears in Imladris one day and shoves the fretting Celeborn aside.

"Your daughter will be fine," the Fëanorian growls and goes on his knees to place a hand on Celebrían's very swollen belly. "In case you've forgotten, I had once five younger brother's and I can vividly remember the year Ambarussa was born."

Then he proceeds to make her tea, talks to cooks in the kitchens what food she should avoid and settles down to answer whatever question Celebrían might've for him.

"Thank you, Maglor," Celebrían says, putting as much as gratitude into her voice as she can. "Their worrying went a little overboard in the last days and I'm not even six months along."

Maglor laughs. "I know how you feel. My mother used to snarl at everyone, who dared to suggest that she should put her art aside for an entire year just because she was expecting another child."

"I've found new grown respect for Nerdanel," Celebrían groans. "I'm not even done with these two and I can't believe your mother went through this horror _six times._ Tell me, how did she do it? I can't compare with Naneth, since my parents tried for so long and were overjoyed, when they finally conceived after centuries of being married."

"Well, I've been told the result is worth the effort," Maglor drawls, his trademark smirk appearing on his face. "Soon enough you're going to be grateful for all the help you can get. Trust me, when I say that you're going to changing _a lot of_ diapers in the next decade."

Her groan makes him laugh even more, but bears his teasing, because it makes Elrond happy when his slowly growing family gets along.

 

 _Weak knees, can’t stand_  
_Raise up your hands_  
_Don’t walk away_  
_Been sucker punched but I’m not down_  
_My feet have never left the ground_  
_It’s a fight that I can fix_  
_Like a cut that needs a stitch_  
_And somehow through it all I stand_

 

Before she met him, Celebrían envisioned the last Fëanorian as damned soul, tortured by the past and wrecked by guilt. Someone who forgets to eat, doesn't comb his hair and sits at the beach, lamenting and regretting past actions.

Maglor is none of that. He wears practical clothes, which look worn but are made of good quality. It's true that he travels a lot and might not be appear as the tradition Elven Lord, but through Elrond she had learned Maglor prefers it this way. His rough appearance opens doors among Men, for he carries himself with confidence and always pays for whatever he needs. Not always in coins, but rather with advice, knowledge or creative solutions .

Even the Dwarves welcome him with open arms, because he speaks their language and they respect the quality of his work.

It had been a shock to learn that Maglor frequently lives among Dwarves, travelling through their Seven Kingdom's as if they were his own and has earned a name for himself thanks to swords and weapons he forges for them.

She asked Elrond once, what he thinks about his father's behaviour, but she only got a shrug for an answer.

 _"It makes him happy in a way the Eldar can't any more. He always feels like an unwanted guest and never like welcome friend, if he stays too long,"_ Elrond had said.

"Was he always like this?" Celebrían asks Galadriel one day as they sit on a bench together, enjoying a quiet morning with little Arwen cradled between them while the twins are chasing a cackling Maglor through garden.

The Noldor in Imladris have split opinion about Maglor. While they always invite him to spars, drinks and food, they're also relieved, when he inevitably packs his things and disappears for a while. Celebrían always wondered why and she can't ask her father. Celeborn is politely ignoring Maglor, whenever he's in Imladris and Celebrían is glad he's holding his tongue. For Elrond's shake and the happiness of her children, the very least.

"Mostly, their brood used to drive us all mad. Loud, overconfident boys that rode into Tirion as if they owned the place," her mother says, chuckling a little. Her expression becomes more solemn. Quietly Galadriel adds, "It was the loss of their father, what broke them in the end. Not the oath and certainly not Morgoth either."

Celebrían smiles down at her daughter. She's still small, just a few months old, but she loves the voice of her grandfather. Sometimes she finds them together, Maglor sitting in a chair and cooing at Arwen. His funny faces never fail to make her laugh and Celebrían thinks it's the most beautiful sound on Arda.

"I'm glad Makalaurë didn't break," Celebrían says. "He showers them with so much love, it'd have been a great loss, had they never been allowed to experience it."

Galadriel hums, "I think we have to thank Elrond and Elros for that."

 

-

 

"How do you do it?" Celebrían finally asks, centuries later.

Maglor has once returned to Imladris, in a cheerful mood that defied all explanation. For it's been a truly miserable weather, a miserable year. A bad crop caused prices to go up, even the barest necessities were expensive and the harsh winter on top of that brought suffering to the people of Eriador. Celebrían hadn't left her home for exactly that reason, she couldn't witness the hollow cheeks in the faces of Men, their sickly appearance. She couldn't ride down the road, which farms and huts would be empty when spring came along.

"How do I do what?" Maglor asks, pulling the dirty shirt over his head.

The sight makes Celebrían's gut clench in fear. The skin is riddled with scars. Some are very old, have faded into thin pale lines, while others looked fresh and horrifying. It's proof of how much time Maglor spends on the road and often has to fight entire bands of Orcs on his own. At least her sons can provide backup with each other, yet she can also never be more glad that they learned sword-fighting from him. With thousands years of battle tactics drilled into their heads from early age, she can't believe there's anything Elladan and Elrohir cannot conquer.

They return bruised, bloody and with broken bones, but they return. Always.

"Face the world with such much optimism," Celebrían explains and puts down the fresh robes she made for him during his absence. Maglor is very much like her sons in that regard, he's always in need of clean comfortable robes, whenever he sets foot inside Imladris. By now she tries to keep him as warm and as content as possible. It's not fair how he somehow got a place in her heart as well, causing her to worry over him. "Greet the sun every morning, when you know so well what crawls around at night."

Maglor looks at her for a while, considering his answer. In the end he decides to go for honesty.

Finally he says, "Perhaps it's because I only care for myself. I love my family, what little I've left and I'd do everything for them. I've travelled thousands of miles for seeds of a plant that Elrond needed to cure Elros from a heart disease. I've also gone weeks without sleep and food in order to get to him in time."

Celebrían has no difficulty believing that. She has seen the determination in his eyes. It's the same that her mother reflects. And Elrond. Perhaps it's the fire of those, who survived the First Age. Or just the heritage of the Noldor in general, who have lost so much that they will fight for every little piece that still remains.

"I admire you for it. I'm not sure if I had the strength, if it comes down to it," Celebrían sighs and puts down her stuff in order to help her father-in-law with his hair. Spending weeks on the road is always hell for his thick hair and it takes ages to comb the knot out. "I've had a rather comfortable existence so far."

Maglor sits patiently in front of her, head resting against his chest as Celebrían keeps brushing his hair. He ends up saying, "I'd die for Elrond, for you and for your children, but that's almost too easy. Death is a cowardly way to bow out, to transfer your struggles and hardships to someone else."

They sit in silence, neither of them saying anything for a while until Maglor adds, "So many have tried to kill me, but I'm still here. I won't let anyone take my happiness away. I won't. They'll have to pry it away from cold dead body before I let Elrond go. There's nothing I wouldn't do for him and I'll not feel guilty for loving him. For wanting to keep him safe, no matter if my actions make me in monsters in the eyes of some."

The Fëanorian turns his head to look at her. His eyes are old and they've still the light of Valinor in them. Sometimes Celebrían forgets that Maglor has truly seen it all. That he was there, when Fëanor crafted the Silmarils, witnessed so many battles Celebrían considers ancient history and even had friends among the Sindar and the Silvan long before their relationship became complicated.

He looks as if he's awaiting judgement, but it's not Celebrían's place to give any.

She puts down the hairbrush.

"When I grew up, I encountered teachings among my father's people that taking a life - any kind of life - is wrong and the act of killing, should it become necessary should always be followed by remorse. But that's an awfully convenient mindset, if you ask me." Celebrían takes Maglor's hands into hers and brushes her thumbs over his palms. They're smooth, despite what the legends say about his hand being burned by the Silmaril, she can't find any evidence of it. Perhaps the scar had long healed. "Please don't feel guilty for wanting to live. Don't question yourself or your actions, all what we want is for you to return to us, safe and sound. And since your teachings have kept my sons from being seriously injured every since the started riding out with you, you may keep on slaughtering as many Orcs as you like."

"Just come back to us," Celebrían whispers, her chest heavy at the thought that there might be a day, where she can't greet Maglor on her doorstep any more. "Morgoth destroyed so much of our lives, don't succumb to his minions, when he's long gone from this world."

Over the years he's become her friend. Maglor is a beloved family member and she rather lives with the blood on his hands than imagine her life without him.

 

 

 _We’re the ones who take the beating_  
_Get back up and we’re still breathing_  
_We are the ones_  
_We’ll take the hit straight to the face_  
_And never look the other way_  
_We are the ones_

_Still undefeated_

 

The white snow is blazing cold and unforgiving, but Celebrían is glad for it. It numbs her pain, soothes her burning wounds and keeps her from slipping back into the fever dreams. The snow also allows her to hide in plain sight. Her own hair blends with the white mass around her. Similar it's with her skin, Noldorin pale like her mother's and perfect to hide from her pursuers gaze.

Celebrían swallows hard when she presses her nearly bare breasts back into the snow, making herself as small as possible. They will not take her again. In freezing winter nights like this she has better chances of surviving out here than in the Orc camp.

A shiver of fear travels down her spine, but Celebrían forces herself to swallow raising sickness in her mouth. The smell of unwashed Orc skin still lingers in her nose. Yet she refuses to vomit and risk to give herself away through the loud gagging noise Celebrían knows she would make. So she rather concentrates on checking her bleeding wounds. Thankfully she hasn't suffered any major stab wounds and most scratches stopped bleeding freely in the cold. It's the black bruises and her aching joints that bother her.

Trembling Celebrían pulls the remains of her coat over her shoulders. The dark spot on her grey pants had spread out again. She hoped it would stop on it's on, but what little knowledge she had on the matter gave her little comfort. Yet in was her husband's steady and clinical voice, teaching her how the womb of mortal women worked that saves her from the horror of her own memories. Pictures of the past days - or weeks, she isn't entirely sure - she banishes with determination. Though they're only buried for the time being. Celebrían knows the memories will rush back as soon as she let herself linger on them.

But she can't, not now, when she's so close to escaping. Celebrían refused to die under the horrible weight of a foreign presence in her and denied herself to sleep, when they gave her some time of reprieve. Hearing the laughing Orcs around her it had seemed like wishful thinking to die alone in the snow. Better to be frozen and never to be found than let her spirit fade from a comatose body.

Yet when her bare feet had carried her outside and she realized the worst was over, Celebrían fought for the chance to stay alive. Just a bit more. Just a bit further.

Her fingers close around her only remaining blade. Looking at shining metal was beyond comforting. It had been carved long ago, the runes glowing faintly in red colour. It was for her eyes only, for this blade had claimed a lot of lives during its existence. It had been Maglor's once, he left it behind in Imladris during his last visit and Celebrían still doesn't know how it ended up in her belongings. She remembers strapping it to her thigh, thinking it was too well-balanced and too practical to leave it behind out of sentimental purposes when she was facing a dangerous journey herself.

 _I'll give it back. I'll give it back to Maglor. I'll see him again and then I'll give it back to him,_ Celebrían thinks and squeezes her eyes shut as the Orcs pass her by. She makes herself as small as possible, clutching the dagger.

She prepared to use it. On her enemies, preferably. But she won't hesitate to take her own life, in case the Orcs do find her again.

Yet, Celebrían knows, she won't. She has spend a lifetime with Maglor Fëanorian in her house. She watched her father-in-law teach her children, what they should do in a situation like this. Has listened to his warnings and his tales, when he ended up in a similar situation.

"It'll get better," he had said, defiance shining in his eyes. "It might not seem this way at first, but it _will get better._ You just have to be prepared to live with the pain for a while."

 _I will,_ Celebrían promises. To herself and to her family that is waiting, searching, praying for her to come back. _I'll live with it, no matter what it takes._

Then Celebrían leaves her hiding spot and starts looking for a way back home.

 

-

 

Days, weeks later, warm hands embrace her. Celebrían disappears in Maglor's arms, her feet numb and bleeding over the tiles. Her fingers tremble as she buries them in his coat, but when she rest her head against his chest, she allows herself to cry. Her shoulders shake and heart-wrenching sobs escape her mouth, but she's glad only Maglor is here to witness it. She wants to be strong for her family. She can't let anyone see her like that.

"It's alright," Maglor says and strokes her head. "It's going to be alright, daughter. It's going to be alright. The worst is over now."

It may not look this way, because another wave of tears spill forth the moment he utters the words, but Celebrían believes him.

 

 _They cannot break our hope_  
They cannot break our hope  
They can break us down but they can’t break our hope

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It got out of hand. This is all I can say and I already limited myself not to include fluffy scenes between Maglor and his grandchildren. Or Maglor making peace with Galadriel and driving Celeborn half mad with inapprociate jokes and puns.


End file.
